Endings and Beginnings
by Shuggie
Summary: Graduation is fast approaching. Everyone is under lots of stress with exams and deadlines. The only thing that can make Wendy's last few weeks as a high school student more aggrivating is Eric Cartman. WendyCartman, slight StanKyle
1. Chapter 1

**So even though they seem to be growing in number, I am of the firm opinion that there aren't enough cartman/wendy stories out there. So since I'm on such a big cartman/wendy kick right now (as anyone can see from the like 7 or 8 recent pics in my dA thing), I decided to write one! Yay! This was actually meant to be a sort of long oneshot, but then it got to be too long. So I chaptered it. There will only be three, so even though it's short, I still hope yall find it fun! **

**So mostly the story is from Wendy's POV (in third person...you know, like how JKR does Harry Potter). So mostly wendy/cartman, slight kyle/stan. and of course kenny(or)bebe/everyone else! haha! I love those guys...! **

EDIT: I went back and fixed a few grammatical errors and changed all the "Eric"s to "Cartman"s.**

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Chapter 1**

It was a well known fact in South Park High that Eric Cartman was a jackass. Actually, it was well known fact through all of South Park that Eric Cartman was a jackass. It had become apparent very early on in the boy's life. Because of sixteen dollars and twelve cents, he had had two people killed. He was a racist. He was sarcastic. He was obnoxious. He was self-centered. Everyone knew it. Everyone accepted it. Everyone just let his rants pass them by. It was easier that way. If they just ignored him, he'd go bother someone else. If they didn't respond to his taunting or congratulated him when he rubbed his success in their faces, he would stop.

But that didn't make his words and actions any less infuriating.

That was why Wendy Testaburger had just overturned a desk. Yes, Wendy was quite used to hearing him call her every variation of the name "Hippie Bitch" under the sun, but it didn't make it any less irritating. Also, she was on her period. She had cramps. She was PMSing. She had five AP tests and the SAT II within the next two weeks. She was editor of the yearbook, and the next deadline was next week. She did not need to add Eric Cartman to the mix.

The entire classroom had gone silent. Everyone was staring at Wendy. She was standing in the middle of the room, glaring at Cartman with fire in her eyes. Several of the students around her had shrunk away. Tweek had actually jumped up and was hiding behind Craig. For his part, Cartman was just staring at her with a raised brow. "What died up your ass," he scoffed.

Wendy let out a shriek. "Cartman! You overbearing asshole!" she screamed.

"Listen, flower child," he continued, "all I'm saying is that feminists are just a bunch of house wife bitches on their periods who don't have anything better to do while their husbands are on some business trip banging some hot foreign chick. So they stick their tampons too far up their vaginas, and—"

"Sick, dude," Stan exclaimed, making a disgusted face. Several other boys looked to share his sentiments. The girls were just glaring.

Kyle was sitting sideways in his desk and glaring back at Cartman. He looked down his nose at the larger boy with a condescending look. "You have absolutely no tact, Cartman," he said. "You'd probably get ahead in life if you would shut up more."

It was interesting that in South Park the other students were usually the ones who tried to break up or settle classroom disturbances. The teacher was currently filing her nails.

"Shut the fuck up, Jew," Cartman snapped back. It should also be noted that teachers did not correct foul language or racial slurs. "You would stick with the hippie. You two brain fuck, after all."

Kyle's brows twitched. His green eyes darted over to Wendy. She was looking back at him with an exasperated expression. Could Cartman be any more ridiculous? Kyle and Wendy were certainly not fucking in any sense. Yes, they were study buddies, but Kyle was gay and quite open about it. Kyle was in no way attracted to Wendy, and the only love Wendy felt for Kyle was that of siblings.

"You are such a dumb fuck, Cartman," Kyle said with a roll of his eyes.

Cartman snorted. "Me? Try you and that pot smoking hippie—"

"I'm an environmentalist," Wendy screamed. "I hate smoking! The smell of weed makes me sick!" Cartman just turned his raised brow back to her. "It does, you jackass, and no, I didn't find that out because I was smoking it."

The shrill sound of the bell filled the classroom. "Get out of here, you little bastards," the teacher called out. Her cheerful goodbye did not faze any of the students. They were far to used to her behavior. Students flung backpacks over their shoulders and ran for the door. It was Friday, and they wanted out.

Wendy forcefully shoved her textbooks into her bag, her cheeks a rather alarming red. Kyle and Stan walked up to her overturned desk. Kyle placed a hand on her shoulder, and Stan righted the desk. "Don't let him get to you, Wends," he said in a comforting manner. Wendy let out a snort at the comment to show she was listening. Kyle just chuckled. "Are we still meeting up tomorrow?"

Wendy pushed her hair from her face as she looked up at him. She forced a smile to her face. "Yeah," she said. "Three at my house, right?"

Kyle nodded. "English or math?"

"Do you have to ask," Wendy asked with a smile. "Calculus is kicking my ass!"

At that moment, Cartman threw his backpack into place on his back and let out a booming laugh. "That is so fucking gay," he laughed loudly, walking out of the room.

Kyle and Wendy glared after him. Stan ran a hand nervously through his dark hair. "You know, in all honesty, I'd have to agree with Cartman on this one. Meeting on a Saturday afternoon to study?"

"Do you have six college prep tests starting on Monday, Stan," Kyle asked patiently. The redhead gave the other boy a look that was quite simply a silent reminder of the driving force in Kyle's astounding grades: Sheila Broflovski.

"Right," Stan said simply. Wendy laughed, and the three exited the school together. Wendy left the boys at Stan's truck and continued through the parking lot to her own car. She threw her bag into the back and settled into the driver's seat. She started to pull out of her parking spot only to nearly crash into Cartman. He honked loudly at her and flipped her off. She returned the favor and pulled out after him. She growled nastily. If Eric Cartman wasn't the most infuriating piece of shit in the world, she'd fail a test.

Wendy pulled into her driveway and slumped inside. Her mother stepped out from the kitchen. "Mom," Wendy asked, "what are you doing here?" Her mother usually didn't get off work until five. Then she noticed that her mother was in pajamas and was eating a bar of chocolate.

"Cramps," Mrs. Testaburger said simply.

"My deepest sympathies," Wendy said. "Throw me some chocolate." The older woman broke off a few squares from the bar. She tossed it at her daughter, who muttered her thanks before trudging up the stairs. Wendy didn't normally eat junk food, so the chocolate treat was made even more heavenly.

She opened the door to her room and tossed her bag to the ground. She dropped onto her bed and popped the last square of chocolate into her mouth. Her dark eyes swept the room. She needed to straighten it up a bit before Bebe came over. In all reality, Bebe was far past being treated like a guest. As children, they had almost always been at each other's homes. She didn't need to straighten up for Bebe, but it would keep her busy and her mind from wandering too much.

Wendy sighed. She could already feel her thoughts drifting, but she did nothing to stop them. She couldn't seem to pull herself from the bed just yet.

Eric Cartman was such a jerk. Wendy had never done anything to him. She stayed out of his way and didn't pick fights with him. But he twisted every word she said. He debated everything that left her mouth. She had a feeling that she could say Jesus lived down the street, and he would elaborately deny it. But everyone knew Jesus lived down the block. He had a local talk show for Christ's sake!

Cartman was nasty. He was mean. He was evil and manipulative. He thrived off the misery of other people. He was cocky and a narcissist. He was overweight. He was plain looking with brown hair and eyes. But dear God, Wendy had never been more attracted to anything in her life.

Yes, she, Wendy Testabuger, was hopelessly attracted to Eric Cartman. She was years past denying it. Denying it hadn't made it go away. It had only gotten stronger. Yet, admitting it had made it stronger too. She didn't know how he did it. Cartman made her simultaneously want to put a bullet in his head and bone him senseless.

Her attraction to Cartman had begun at that flag debate way back in the third grade. They had been heading their side of the debate against Stan and Kyle. He had made her laugh with his toys, and they had made Quadruple Stuffed Oreos together. She still wouldn't admit it, but she had had fun working with him. She had told Bebe that she was attracted to him. Bebe had suggested that she kiss him and get it over with. So she had. She had kissed Cartman in front of most of the town and Stan. She and Stan had still been together then. Stan had been horrified, but they didn't talk about it after the new flag was unveiled. No one did, not even Cartman. It would have been so like him to rub it in Stan's face, but he never did. Wendy had told Cartman that all her feelings for him had vanished. He had said that his did too. She had pretended that that didn't bother her.

Her feelings hadn't exactly vanished. She had always felt something for Cartman after that. No matter what boy she was with after, it was Cartman that was in the back of her mind. It was one of the main reasons she had called it off with Stan in fourth grade. It was wrong of her to be dating him and thinking about one of his best friends. So she had gone with Token. Cartman and Token weren't friends. In fact, Cartman ripped on Token constantly for being black, and Token was part of Craig's gang. Cartman and Craig hated each other. It had seemed logical, but Token didn't last long. So for some years, until about eighth grade, she had stopped having a little boyfriend like a normal little girl.

Cartman had never had a girlfriend before, not that Wendy knew of. She knew that Heidi had asked him out once, but he had turned her down saying he was interested in someone else. Some people had said that that someone else might have been a guy. Everyone else knew better. Cartman hated gays, and it wasn't a cover up hate like Mr. Garrison's had been. And even if Cartman was gay, he was the type that would cover it up with a girlfriend. Wendy just wanted to know who this other chick was so she could wreck her world for stealing Cartman's affections.

Cartman was the kind of person who had so many walls with so many defenses that it made heads spin. Wendy estimated that his walls were roughly three feet thick, made of solid titanium, and guarded by fifty Star Wars style laser canons each along with a fleet of ninja monkeys. Most people had never seen past his first wall. She liked to think she had gotten past at least two. Stan and Kyle had probably cleared three or four. Kenny McCormick was Cartman's best friend. He had probably cleared most of the walls. But Cartman was the kind of person who would never let anyone past his final wall. Wendy desperately wanted to get to that wall. She wanted to see the real Eric Cartman.

Every once and a while, Wendy would catch Cartman looking at her. Of course, all his walls were up, and to the passerby, it would look as though he were glaring at her. In those instances, Wendy had seen something flash through his eyes. She was never sure what it was. It could very well have been hate or distaste. But then it could have been admiration. Wendy could never tell. She liked to imagine that it was positive emotion that he was feeling towards her. That was unlikely. But whatever it was that Cartman was thinking when he looked at her like that, it still made Wendy want to jump him and kiss him until she passed out from lack of air.

None of this made sense. Wendy grunted as she pulled herself off the bed and began to straighten her room. She had let her thoughts wander for too long. Bebe would be over soon. With her best girlfriend there, it would be easier for Wendy to ignore Cartman filled thoughts.

The next morning, Bebe left just in time for Wendy to jump in the shower before Kyle came over. She was just pulling on her shirt when there was a knock at her bedroom door. "Hang on," Wendy called. She nearly fell over trying to squirm into her shorts. "Okay!"

The door swung open, and Kyle was standing there, an amused expression on his face. "You didn't hurt yourself there, did you," he asked lightly.

"Shut up, Kyle," Wendy said good naturedly. "I was in the shower."

"So I see," he said nodding at her soaked hair. Wendy grabbed a brush and pulled it through the dripping locks. She stuffed it up in a messy knot on top of her head. She looked back to Kyle, who seemed to be holding in a laugh.

"I'll have you know, Mr. Broflovski," Wendy said with her hands on her hips, "that it is much more difficult for women to shower. We have legs and arms to shave, longer hair, and we care about our facial complexion. And I also happen to like salt scrubs."

Kyle laughed. "I don't doubt it, Wendy," he said, dropping his things on her bed and taking a seat. Wendy grabbed her notebook and joined him. They began pouring through calculus notes. Kyle was good with numbers, and he was one of the only people who could make math make sense to Wendy. She didn't know what she'd do without him in college if she needed more math hours. It was likely that she'd drag him to her rooms and keep him hostage until her math classes were over, buying him over with various male atonements like porno movies and an hour's leave each day to light various things on fire.

They studied for a straight three hours before Mrs. Testaburger brought up snacks. After the older woman left, Kyle stretched in a manner that popped about half his bones in his spine. Wendy winced, but Kyle just smiled in relief. "That felt good," he said.

"Sounded painful," Wendy said. Kyle shrugged and popped a cracker into his mouth. "So," Wendy continued, "how's things?"

"Since yesterday," Kyle asked. Wendy smiled. "Doing good."

"You and Stan still okay," she asked with a wink. Kyle smiled broadly.

For years and years, since they were kids, people in town—most notably Cartman—had been teasing Stan and Kyle because of their close friendship. But in all honesty, they had always been closer than it seemed even best friends should be. Many things they did that Cartman observed to be gay usually were pretty gay. If they had fights or misunderstandings, they made up like girls. If they were without each other, they were miserable. It was sweet and weird at the same time.

Wendy had been the first person Kyle had come out to. He would have never come out to Cartman first, and Kenny would have been far too turned on by the talk; he was rapidly getting to a competitive level with Ms. Cartman for the town slut, after all. Kyle had been too scared to say anything to Stan. In the realm of girls, Wendy was his best friend, and Wendy didn't judge people for their sexual preferences. Wendy could help him there. And she had. She had sat down and listened to everything Kyle had said before interjecting her opinions.

She had almost been surprised to hear Kyle actually say that he was feeling things for Stan outside the realm of friendship. Almost. In her humble opinion, Stan and Kyle were made for each other. God had carefully put them together with the other in mind. It didn't matter that both of them were boys. That wasn't meant to stop love.

That conversation had happened three years ago, in their freshman year. While Kyle hadn't cared at all that it was boys and not girls that he was attracted to, it had scared him shitless that he was seeing Stan that way. He didn't care if Stan knew his sexual preferences, but what if Stan knew the feelings that Kyle had for him? Kyle had nearly broken down. Wendy had told Kyle that if he was ready to come out to Stan, then to do it, but that didn't mean he had to tell his best friend about the attraction. Just because it was there and Kyle recognized it, didn't mean that Kyle had to say anything until he was ready.

Kyle had taken Wendy's advice. He had told Stan that he was gay, but he had kept the crush part to himself. Stan had just laughed and said he knew. And they continued their friendship as though nothing had changed. Perhaps nothing had.

Being gay, Kyle's dating options were limited. The only other known gays in town were Tweek and Craig, but they were together. Kenny might have been bi, but Kyle wasn't attracted to the blond. No one was sure if Ms. Garrison could be considered gay anymore, but either way, she was far too old for Kyle, and Kyle would have never considered it. Mr. Slave and Big Gay Al had moved to California a few years ago. Kyle had no dating options, but his appeal among the girls had soared. Sure, they knew he was undatable, but what girl didn't want a gay friend? Kyle was far from a fruit, but he was seen as a window to provide the girls with ample information on the true workings of the male population.

But finally, a few weeks ago, Stan had told Kyle that he liked him a bit more than a best friend should. Kyle's reaction had been rather comical, looking back. Gravity had taken over his jaw, and his eyes had nearly been the size of plates. With a startled eep, he had run away from Stan and straight to Wendy's house. Wendy had heard him yelling for her about a block away. She had run out to meet him expecting to hear that someone had been killed or that the Jackovosaurs from Stark's Pond were rebelling again. She had been unable to contain her laughter when he told her what had happened. The poor boy hadn't known exactly how to react and needed Wendy's advice. She had demanded that Kyle go for it. Kyle had then remembered that he had tactfully run from Stan. The other boy was probably slamming hid head repeatedly into a tree. Kyle had left Wendy in the same manner as he left Stan. The next day, Stan and Kyle were an official couple, one many years in the making.

It hadn't really surprised the rest of the town either. The only ones who ever complained were Cartman and Sheila Broflovski. Cartman just thought it was disgusting. Sheila was depressed that she would never get biological grandchildren.

Both Kyle and Stan, although so obviously in love, were very nervous about their relationship. Both were scared of ruining fifteen years of friendship. Wendy loved both of those boys. She would do all she could to help them through any problems they might have. After all, if Stan and Kyle couldn't make it, what hope did anyone have?

Kyle's eyes sparkled as he spoke, "We're great." Wendy loved how Kyle's green eyes danced when Stan was mentioned. She wished she could show her love like that. She sighed and gave Kyle a wistful smile. He recognized her thoughts. "Don't worry about him, Wendy," Kyle reassured her.

"Kind of hard not to," Wendy muttered. "He hates me, but I can't hate him back, at least not totally."

Kyle knew all about Wendy's thing for Cartman. She had told him a long time ago. She trusted him with that most sacred information. He didn't approve, of course, but he was understanding. For those few years, he had thought there was no way him and Stan would ever be together. He, unlike Wendy, had been lucky. Stan had returned those feelings. Eric wouldn't return Wendy's. He hated her.

"It's just one of those things, I guess," she continued. "I mean, it's never going to happen. We're all graduating in a few weeks. Then after a few months, everyone will go their separate ways. I mean, I know a lot of people are only going as far as Denver, but I'm going to California. I'll probably never even see Cartman again, other than the occasional holiday or reunion. Just one of those what if things. All these years I've been harboring these feelings, and nothing is ever going to come of them."

Kyle sighed. She was probably right. Cartman wasn't showing any interest in Wendy in the way she wanted him to. Cartman didn't show any interest in anyone. He said that there was someone he was looking at, but Kyle couldn't begin to guess who it was; Kenny didn't even have a clue. Kyle didn't want to agree with Wendy. That would seem insensitive, but he didn't know what else to say. His brain was failing him, for once. "Hey," he tried, wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders, "whatever happens happens. It'll be for the best in the end." Wendy sighed, but she smiled at him. Kyle gave her shoulders a squeeze and flipped his book back open. "Let's get back to this," he said.

It was another two hours before Kyle left. Wendy walked him to the door and bade him a short good-bye. He yelled a quick reminder about the party at Craig's house over his shoulder. Wendy smiled as she headed back upstairs to get ready for said party. Kyle always made her feel better about the Cartman situation.

She moved into her bathroom and pulled her damp hair down from its knot. She flipped on her straigtener and plugged in her hair dryer. She plugged her iPod into her stereo and turned it on. As she set to work preparing her hair, Wendy let her mind wander. She frowned but did nothing to stop the flow. She needed to get some will power! Cartman was starting to fill her every non-academic thought.

Of course, Cartman would be at the party tonight. Everyone would. It didn't matter if they were popular or not. Parties were always open. And Craig especially threw the best parties. His parents were almost never home, and they would evacuate if Craig told them to. They also provided Craig and his friends with free range at their liquor cabinet. Whiskey, tequila, and rum would be flowing free tonight, not to mention at least one keg. And they wouldn't have to worry about police like most high school students would. South Park's police force—or one Officer Barbrady—was incompetent and lazy. He wouldn't stop them, and if he tried, well, that's where Cartman's manipulative skills came in handy.

Wendy grinned. Cartman had gotten them out of so many MIPs. Of course, he wasn't doing it out of the goodness of his heart. He didn't want those on his record anymore than the rest of them. He already had that week of juvenile hall for hiding Butters in Jimbo's bomb shelter. But that was beside the point. Cartman was an amazing speaker. It was just another way he could be compared to Adolf Hitler. Maybe Kyle was onto something when he claimed Cartman was Hitler's reincarnation.

Wendy set down her straightener and applied her make-up, humming along with the song blaring through the room. The simple task was quickly done, and Wendy ventured back into her room to pick out an outfit. One of her secret favorites started to play, and she danced in and out of her closet, throwing possible shirts and bottoms onto her bed.

About four songs and much contemplation later, Wendy had decided on a pair of stylishly ripped and faded Capri pants along with a rather form-fitting pink top. Wendy sent her thanks upward that the pants weren't very tight. She wouldn't have been able to move. She slipped on numerous noisy bracelets and her rings. She stuck her earrings in as she made her way back into the closet. She needed shoes. As she pushed aside box after box, her all time favorite song came on. "Oh!" she squealed. "Come on shoes!" Finally she found the elusive pink pumps. After quickly slipping them on, Wendy jumped to her feet and dashed into her room for a good dance session.

Just as the song finished, her cell phone began to ring. Good timing. She dove onto her bed and picked it up. "Yello," she called.

"You ready yet," he asked. Wendy made an affirmative noise. "Good. We're pulling into your driveway right now." There was a long, loud honk. "Fuck! God damn it, Stan," Kyle yelled. Wendy joined Stan in laughing.

"I'm coming down," Wendy said before flipping her phone shut. She yelled good-bye to her mother and jogged out to Stan's truck. Kyle had his door open so she could climb in the back. "Hey, boys," she said cheerfully as Stan started backing out.

They returned the greeting. Kyle turned in his seat to look back at her. "Well, Wendy, you're certainly looking hot tonight," he said, both ignoring the almost inaudible snort from Stan. With a mischievous glint in his eye, Kyle continued, "If I weren't gay, I'd certainly be all over you right about now."

"WHAT," Stan yelled and swerved slightly. Kyle and Wendy laughed loudly. "But—but—Kyle!" he protested. Kyle gave Stan a punch on the shoulder. "Don't hit the driver."

Kyle ignored the last comment and said, "Chill, dude. I'm gay. Boobs do nothing for me. What does, on the other hand, is—"

"Oh, God!" Wendy cried. "I don't want to hear it." Stan's sense of humor finally returned, and he laughed. Kyle chuckled and looked back at Wendy with a raised brow. She stared back. He looked rather amused about something. Wendy folded her arms over her chest in an indignant manner. She huffed.

"You know, Cartman might have been right about you two brain fucking," Stan said. His voice caused the silent pair to look up at him with questioning expressions. "Well," Stan defended, "you're getting all intense and crap. You sure you aren't cheating on me, dude? Like all brainwave style?"

"Yes, Stan," Kyle said sarcastically, "we go at it at least twice a day, usually in the gym bathrooms. Wendy just wooed me with her manly wiles."

Wendy deepened her voice, "That's right, baby. Why don't you come bring that fine, spanktacular ass back here to daddy?"

"Spanktacular?"

Stan smiled as he parked the truck in the street in front of Craig's house. "Out," he commanded. He walked to the other side of his truck to find Wendy and Kyle making a show of running their hands all over each other. "Sick," Stan said, grabbing Kyle and putting an arm protectively around his shoulders.

Wendy laughed as she ran to catch up to them. She slowed her pace along side Kyle. "You do know that we're joking, right, Stan," she asked.

Stan held his stare of righteous anger for a few seconds before breaking out into a grin. "Yeah, Wends, I know," he said slyly, "I mean, there's no way you can make Kyle moan as loud as me."

"Stan!" Kyle yelled punching the other's arm hard, "She doesn't want to hear that." To illustrate the point Wendy stuck her fingers in her ears and began to hum loudly.

"You know, Wendy won't listen to all that, but I'd love too. Hot stuff right there," a voice said from the darkness. Kenny McCormick stepped out from behind a tree, a cigarette held loosely in his hand. He blew a cloud of smoke towards them. Wendy held in a cough. She hated that stuff.

"Fuck off, Kenny," Stan said. "You're a pervert."

"This is true," Kenny said grinning. "And I'd love to fuck something. Shall we, Wendy?" He extended a hand towards the darkness from which he had emerged in an over-exaggerated manner.

She slapped him. He only laughed. The four began to walk towards the house. "What are you doing out here, Kenny," Kyle asked.

Kenny raised a brow and waved the cigarette he had just taken a puff of in the redhead's face. "I thought you were smart," he said, throwing the stick to the ground and stomping it out with his shoe. "Smoking is the only thing Craig's parents are tightasses about. Remember when Craig beat the shit out of Kevin for smoking inside? I'm not a dumbass. For Kevin it was just a beating. If it had been me, something would have happened, and I would have died. I know it happens all the time, but it still hurts like a bitch."

"Poor baby," Wendy cooed. Kenny flipped her off. She smirked as they stepped up onto the porch.


	2. Chapter 2

**Much thanks to everyone who reviewed and loved! I heart all yall! Haha, I'm listening to What Would Brian Boitano Do, and was thus hit with the urge to get this up. Also, I love yall, so it goes up. Either way, here it is...haha, Brian Boitano...(snickers) Also, I just realized something. No new South Park tonight. Just Free Willzyx or however its spelled. While funny, nothing new. So this is new! Yay! Enjoy! **

**EDIT: Same as laster chapter**

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Chapter 2**

The four seniors opened Craig's front door and were nearly blow away by the sheer volume of the music that was playing. "God damn!" They moved inside, and Kenny, having spotted Bebe dancing, quickly parted from them. Wendy frowned after him.

"You know they've had sex at least five times already," Kyle yelled in her ear.

"I know," Wendy said. She took the red plastic cup Stan passed her and took a sip. God, Stan knew how to make a drink! He must have picked it up form his dad. He knew Wendy's alcohol tolerance and mixed accordingly.

Kyle reached out and smacked Stan's arm as he poured whiskey into another cup. "No double shot, dude. One of us needs to stay decently functional tonight," Kyle said.

Stan frowned. "What for? There's no school or tests tomorrow."

"We're still in charge of Wendy tonight. And we drove. I'd prefer to not die in a drunken wreck three weeks before I graduate high school, thanks," Kyle said, crossing his arms.

"Good point," Stan said setting down the bottle. He finished Kyle's drink and pumped beer from the keg. He chugged it down quickly and filled up another one.

"Slow down, tiger," Craig said as he walked over. "We only have one of those tonight."

"You have enough liquor to entertain everyone else," Stan said. "I'm sticking to beer tonight, so half of this is mine."

"Oh my God!" Tweek cried desperately. "You'll die of alcohol poisoning, Stan! Jesus! We'll have to call the cops! They'll throw us in the big house! I'll get raped! Craig, do something!"

Craig just laughed and planted a quick kiss on Tweek's lips. "Calm down, babe," he said. "Stan'll be fine. He knows when to stop. And if he doesn't stop, Kyle will kick his ass."

Kyle grinned in a reassuring manner at the blonde, who looked slightly relieved. "Don't let him die, Kyle," Tweek said seriously.

Craig and Tweek walked off to go make sure the bedroom doors were locked. Wendy grinned after them. "You know, I really will miss those random outbursts of his," she said fondly. Stan and Kyle just exchanged glances.

"Let's go sit down," Kyle said. The three made their way over to the sofa that had been pushed up against the wall to make a dance floor. Stan pushed Mark off so they could all fit. He wrapped his arm around Kyle, and the redhead leaned comfortably onto him. Wendy smiled.

Her smile, however, was short lived. An obnoxious voice sneered, "That is fucking disgusting." Stan rolled his eyes and took another sip of his beer. Kyle showed no reaction other that the twitching of his brows. Wendy, however, turned to face him.

"Get a life, Cartman," she snapped.

"I wasn't talking about you, bitch," he said lazily. "I was referring to the fags, but if you'd rather I insult you, I guess I could work something out."

"You are so full of yourself," she said. "We didn't do anything to you, so back off."

"You're just as uppity as you claim I am, if not more," Cartman retorted. "All your save the rainforest bullshit. You ever been to the rainforest, ho? I have. It's a shit hole that needs to be torn down. Even those fags agree with me."

"Stop calling them fags," Wendy yelled, jumping up from her seat.

"It's what they are," he yelled back.

"You're just being derogatory," she screamed.

"Wendy," Kyle started, reaching up to grab her hand.

"No," she yelled snatching it away from him. "No, he can't just walk around do this. No one ever stands up to him."

"There's a reason for that," Cartman said smugly. "You've seen what happens to people who piss me off. My evil twin. That Skyler kid. Scott Tenorman. Saddam Hussein. Those are just a few examples. And you're being hypocritical. Remember when you had that substitute teacher fired into the sun because Stan threw up around her?" He laughed. "Too bad you didn't foresee that Stan was a fag."

"You—you jerk!" she yelled. "At least I show remorse when I do something wrong! You don't care!"

"And neither do you," Cartman said coldly. "You don't feel bad that you killed that woman. You can't bullshit a bullshitter. Doesn't work that way. You're a bitch, Wendy. A cold, heartless bitch. You don't give a shit about other people, especially if they get in your way. All you care about is coming out on top and staying on your little pedestal. As long as everyone conforms to you and your views, everything will be fine, but if someone comes along with the slightest difference in opinion, you explode."

Normally, Wendy would have just snapped back at him. Normally, she would have matched him with a ferocity that few could muster. But right then, Wendy felt her heart clench and the full emotional effects of her period hit her. Wendy bit down hard on her lip to keep from sobbing. She blinked rapidly in hopes of keeping tears at bay. She wasn't able to hold in a sniffle. Cartman scoffed, "Pussy."

Wendy didn't say anything but rather turned and ran from the house. She flew out into the front yard and plopped down into the wooden swing hanging from the tree. She wrapped her arms around her body and sobbed. Why was he so hurtful? Why did she not hate him for the things he said to her? Why did she still love him?

A few seconds later, a soft, caring voice said, "Hey." Wendy looked up to see Kyle standing above her. Wendy scooted over, giving him room to sit with her on the swing. He took it, and they sat in silence for a few minutes, each facing an opposite direction. Wendy finally couldn't hold in her sniffles anymore. Kyle reached out an arm and drew her into a hug. Wendy cried for a few minutes on his shoulder. "I know it's hard, but don't let him get to you."

"Why does he do that," she sobbed.

"Because he's an asshole. You know that," Kyle answered.

"Then why do I still care?"

Kyle was silent for a few seconds. "I can't answer that," he finally responded. "For the life of me, I've never understood why you picked Cartman of all people. I know South Park doesn't have much to offer, but there are better specimens out there."

"I can't explain it," Wendy said. "Like I'm sure you can't explain why you like guys."

Kyle chuckled. "I guess," he said gently pulled Wendy back. He smiled. "You have mascara all over your face," he said. Kyle brought his thumb up and wiped as much of the offending make-up away as he could. "I've just got to say, it's pretty crappy that you make yourself look so good for him, and then he's the one to turn you into a melting Michael Jackson."

Wendy's eyes widened. "I look that bad," she cried.

Kyle shook his head. "Naw, it was just the best analogy I could come up with. But you do look pretty miserable right now."

"I am pretty miserable," she said leaning back on his shoulder. "This is stupid. It's not like he's never said those things to me before. I shouldn't be so upset."

Kyle let her have a few more minutes before saying, "Come on. Let's go back in. There's no reason to let Cartman ruin your last break day before all those tests. Stan and Bebe are double teaming his ass. Let's go find a bathroom and make sure you get all the running crap off."

Wendy offered him a smile. Kyle knew it was forced and fake, but it was better than nothing. He took her hand and led her back inside. They walked past the dancing and drinking teens and up the stairs, ignoring any stares or questions. Kyle had been right. Bebe and Stan were screaming at Cartman on the other end of the living room. Wendy gulped. He wasn't giving them an ounce of his attention. He was watching her and Kyle.

It was that stare, the one that made her want to ravish him. She probably would have run across the room and thrown herself on him had Kyle not had a tight hold of her hand. They ducked into a bathroom. Kyle threw Red and Kenny out and turned on the sink. Wendy pulled a few squares of toilet paper off the roll and set to work ridding herself of her running make-up. "You okay now," Kyle asked.

Wendy drew in a breath and said, "Not really, but don't worry about it. I just want Stan to make me another drink, then I'll go hang with Bebe and some of the other girls. That'll give you and Stan some time together." Kyle looked like he was about to protest, but Wendy cut him off, "You two don't need to have a bad night just because I am."

She fixed Kyle with a stubborn look. Kyle rolled his eyes good naturedly. "You can always come hang with us. We don't care at all. We're your friends. And we can take you home any time you want."

Wendy shook her head. "I'll be fine." They headed back downstairs, passing and ignoring an indignant Kenny. Stan and Bebe were waiting for them, Cartman nowhere to be seen. Stan immediately set to work making Wendy's requested drink. Bebe then led Wendy out to the dance floor. They danced with the others to the loud music, leaving only to refill empty cups. And so it was a few hours later that Wendy was definitely drunk. She and Bebe were falling all over each other and giggling. Bebe grabbed Wendy's cup and tried to take a sip. "There's no more!"

Bebe frowned, but it was quickly replaced with a grin. "Let's get more!" They broke through the swaying bodies and headed towards the keg. Craig and Stan were staring each other down. "What are you doing," Bebe slurred. Tweek let out a strangled yell.

Kyle, whose cheeks were a rather merry pink, swirled the drink in his hand and said, "They're having a chugging contest. Tied right now." The girls looked over at the competitors. Both were swaying slightly, and their eyes were glazed over. They certainly were wasted. They simultaneously counted to three and began. They slammed their cups to the counter at the same time and swore. Kyle finished off his drink and filled another one. He took Bebe and Wendy's cups and did the same.

The girls wandered away from the contest to sit down for a while. Bebe was quickly picked up by Clyde for a dance. Wendy vaguely watched the couples grinding in front of her. She sighed and chugged her drink. Token passed her up, and she yelled at him to grab her something on his way back. He tossed her a Smirnoff as he made his way back to Annie. Wendy's glazed eyes traveled over the clock on the wall. It was after three? Already? Wow. Time had flown.

She looked around. Bebe and Clyde had begun to make out; she was grabbing at his crouch. She looked back to the keg. Stan and Kyle were gone. Craig was going at Tweek's neck, and the blond was a bright shade of pink, but he did nothing to push his boyfriend away. Token had Annie in a corner. Kenny and Red were probably having sex in the bathroom. Wendy downed the rest of her drink and sighed. She wished she had a certain someone. Everyone else looked happy, even if some of it was just drunken happiness.

She needed to stop thinking these depressing thoughts. Depressing thoughts and alcohol weren't good mixes. Wendy set her mind to think of funny things. She giggled loudly as squirrels and wombats danced through her head. It was far funnier currently than it should have been. Wendy tried to stand, but she collapsed back down in another fit of giggles. "Are you freaking high?"

She looked up to find the object of her desires standing above her. She smiled brightly, forgetting what he had said to her earlier and that she always put of a front of hating him. "Hi, Cartman," she slurred. "Oh my God!" He lifted a brow. Very seriously, Wendy said, "You have a twin."

Cartman frowned. He pulled out his cell phone and pressed a few buttons. He growled when there was no answer. He tried another number and received the same results. He shoved the phone into his back pocket as Wendy asked when his twin had gotten into town. Cartman grabbed her shoulders. "There is only one of me, Wendy. Only one person. You're seeing double."

"Really," Wendy asked with great interest.

Cartman frowned and took her hand to pull her up. "Come on, I'm getting you out of here."

"But it's a party, Cartman," she protested as he half dragged her outside. They trudged across the yard. It was dark out there. The street light in front of Craig's house was out. Wendy took a bad step and flew to the ground with a loud whoop. She giggled insanely. "Did you see that," she cried. Cartman's brows were knitted together so tightly they were almost touching.

He pulled out his phone and tried the numbers again. "Fucking fags," he muttered and bent down and scooped her up into his arms. Wendy giggled slightly. He got her to his car and placed her in the front seat. He climbed into the driver's seat and tore out of his parking spot.

Wendy laughed as the seat belt kept her from slamming into the door. "My foot hurts," she said lightly. "Like bad." Cartman didn't answer her. Instead, he made a u-turn and sped down the street. A few minutes later, he pulled into his driveway. "This isn't my house," Wendy said groggily. Cartman came around to her side and picked her up. He brought her inside and up the stairs. Wendy yawned as he opened the door and rested her head against his shoulder. She was asleep in seconds.

The next morning, Wendy awoke to a pleasant sun lit room. The sheets were warm, and the mattress was amazingly soft. The pillows smelled like a good cologne. She sighed contently. She could stay in her bed forever.

…wait…

Her pillows didn't smell like cologne. They smelled like lavender. And her walls weren't purple. They were pink. And her bed had posters with curtains. This wasn't her room.

It was definitely a boy's—or a really butchy lesbian's—room. The calendar on the wall was a swimsuit edition from Playboy or Magnum or whatever it was called. Clothes were randomly strewn on the floor. There was a baseball hat hanging on the lamp beside the bed. Various posters were pinned on the walls, and there was a TV with all the works in the corner. On the far side of the room was a desk with a large computer. Stuffed in the chair looking very uncomfortable was Eric Cartman. He had his arms crossed over his chest and a frown on his face.

Wendy, in surprise, let out a shrill noise. Cartman jerked in his chair and blinked at her. "You're up," he said simply.

Wendy scooted further into his bed. "What am I doing in your room," she asked almost in dread. She had been very, very drunk last night. No, she assured herself. Only her head hurt, and hopefully Cartman wasn't that big of an asshole.

"You pretty much passed out," he said. "Aren't you supposed to be smart? You should know what your alcohol limits are."

Wendy felt a bit ashamed. She should know those limits and know when enough was enough. But why hadn't Kyle and Stan taken care of her? Where were her clothes? This shirt definitely wasn't hers.

Almost as if he could read her mind, Cartman said, "You were completely wasted last night, so since the fags were off making out somewhere, I tried to bring you home. You passed out, so I just brought you here. I made my mom change you into one of my t-shirts."

"Oh," Wendy said. She threw back the covers and swung her legs over the bed. She was about to stand up when Cartman jumped up and said, "No." Wendy looked over at him confused.

"No standing," he said. "Take a look at your ankle."

Wendy glanced down. Her ankle was wrapped up in bandages and a brace. Almost suddenly, she was aware of a dull throb. "What the hell?"

"Girls wear the most impractical shoes ever," Cartman lectured. "You tripped over something on the way to my car. Broke the heel off. It was all swollen and purple when Mom was changing you."

"My shoe's broken," Wendy asked. "Damn it! That was my favorite pair."

"Girls also have warped priorities. What do you want to eat?" Wendy looked up at him. "Eat? You know, food? Come on, bitch, name something and my mom will make it."

"Uh, have you eaten?" Cartman ran a hand through his hair, sending it standing up on ends. He shook his head. "Whatever you want is fine." Cartman left his room muttering about women's indecisiveness. Wendy leaned back into his pillows and observed his room. It was neater than most boys' but somehow more cluttered. He had a lot of stuff. Spoiled, she thought. Making sure he wasn't standing in the doorway, Wendy took a long sniff of his pillows. She smiled. _That_ was a cologne.

A few minutes later, Cartman came back in with a tray full of food. He set it down on her lap and sat beside her on the bed. They both ate off the tray as they chose, Cartman dominating most of it. "That was good," Wendy said as Cartman popped the last piece of toast into his mouth.

"Mom's a good cook," he said. They sat in silence for a while. Wendy asked for the time. "One," he answered.

"Oh shit," she exclaimed. "I need to get home. I have to study!"

Cartman crossed his arms over his chest. "I would worry more about sleeping, you dumb bitch. You're lucky you didn't have alcohol poisoning."

"I have three AP tests next week, Cartman," Wendy said sternly. "My college career is at stake!"

"You're already in college, hippie," he said.

"AP tests get you hours. If I have enough hours, I can start as a sophomore. I have to do that if I want to graduate!" She was starting to get hysterical.

Cartman shook his head. "Plenty of people go in with no hours and graduate on time, and they're dumbasses. I think if you're number two in the class, you'll be fine," he scoffed. "And I know that they get you hours. That's why I'm taking the English and history one. Six hours under my belt."

"Hypocrite," Wendy snapped.

"Not really," he said lazily. "One test per week. And I won't study for them. English will be a simple paper, and you know the history essays will tie into some dictator somehow. It's easy."

"You know," Wendy mused, "if you applied yourself like you do with your schemes and plots to you school work, you'd be competing with Kyle and me for the top spots in the class." Cartman shrugged, and the conversation died down.

A few minutes later, he stood and began digging through his closet. He pulled out a pair of basketball shorts that were too small to be his. He tossed them to her. "Those belong to one of the fags, I think. Put them on, and I'll take you home." He turned away to give her privacy to wiggle into the shorts. He turned around when she was done and scooped her up. Wendy hoped her face wasn't as red as it felt.

Ms. Cartman met them at the door and handed Wendy her things. The drive to Wendy's house was silent. Cartman carried her to the door, and just as they stepped up on the porch, the door flew open to reveal her mother. "Wendy," she cried. "What happened to you? Where have you been? No phone call, nothing! I've been so worried!"

Before Wendy could begin to apologize, Cartman spoke up, "It's not her fault, Mrs. Testaburger. Last night at the party, I accidentally bumped into Wendy. She twisted her ankle pretty badly. It was very late, and since my house was closer, I brought her there and had my mother take care of her. We gave her some pain killers with sleep aids so that she wouldn't be so uncomfortable. I would have felt horrible waking you up at such a late hour, so we didn't call. She only just woke up. We came back immediately. I'm so sorry to have worried you."

Wendy blinked up at him and turned to her mother, expecting the look of fury to still be present. Instead, Mrs. Testaburger's anger had washed away. "Poor Wendy! That was so thoughtful of you to take care of her, Eric," she said. Cartman smiled brightly at her. She stepped away from the door. "Here, bring her in."

Mrs. Testaburger took Wendy's clothes and shoes from her. "You should get some rest, dear. Eric, would it be too much trouble for you to carry her up to her room?"

"Not at all, Mrs. Testaburger," Cartman said with what Wendy knew to be the most extreme of false sweetness that existed.

"I'll bring you up some soup later, honey," she called after them. Cartman let out a low snort when they hear her mutter, "Oh, the shoe's broken. That was such a cute pair."

"Told you your priorities were warped," he said as he set her down on the bed.

Wendy smartly ignored the comment. She looked up at him, and he just stared back down at her. Wendy fought a blush. His eyes were gorgeous. They were the color of warm honey. Screw studying and screw college. She could stay like this forever. Cartman bit his bottom lip and said, "I'll go."

He started to turn around, but Wendy stood and said, "Wait." He stopped. Wendy licked her dry lips and took in a deep breath of determination. She said, "Thanks, Cartman," and stood on tip-toe of her good foot and kissed his cheek.

Cartman's eyes widened, and he gaped down at her. His hand went up and lightly brushed the spot where Wendy's lips had touched his skin. He swallowed thickly. Wendy blinked up at him, waiting for some sort of response. She offered him a small smile.

Cartman blinked once, swallowed again, and gave her a curt nod of his head. With that done, he turned on his heel and walked quickly from the room. The door nearly slammed shut behind him. Wendy slowly lowered herself onto her comforter. A sly smile stretched across her face. Something had just happened, something that had never happened in over eighteen years. And Wendy was very proud to say she was the cause.

Eric Cartman had blushed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Much, much thanks to everyone who reviewed for this story! I'm so glad y'all liked it! This is the last chapter. Sorry if it came too soon for anyone. I love y'all. Please review and enjoy!**

**NOTE: UPDATE! Gah, I went back the other day and looked at this and realized how un-Cartman like Cartman is at the end of this. GAY! I must have been smoking crack or something when I wrote this. So, since I was sitting here in the most boring class on the freaking planet, I decided to re-write the ending. It's just the last few paragraphs, nothing big, just done to make me feel better. Enjoy. **

EDIT: same as chapter 1 and 2

**

* * *

Chapter 3**

The next two weeks were hectic. On Monday right after her first test, Kyle had driven her to Hell's Pass to get an x-ray. Her mother had been very confused as to why she wanted Kyle to bring her until Wendy began fretting loudly about how much study time she was wasting just going. If Kyle was there, they could at least quiz each other. Thankfully, all Wendy had done was twist her ankle. The doctor just told her to keep off it for at least a week and use crutches. It didn't make lugging her backpack around easy, but at least she wasn't in a wheelchair.

Of course, she had immediately told Kyle what had happened after the party on Saturday and Sunday morning. Kyle had looked thrown for a loop. After all, Eric Cartman didn't blush, nor did he do anything nice for someone without demanding something in return. Wendy was sure Kyle and Stan were pouring over it in their spare time—or at least Stan could. Kyle was just as busy as she was.

So finally on Friday, Wendy limped out of her French exam, too tired to even wonder how Kyle was doing with his Spanish. In fact, the only thing running through her head was the Dreidel Song, which was odd because she wasn't Jewish, and it wasn't the holiday season. She wandered out to the front of the school and sat down on the steps.

A few minutes later, the doors opened again, and the few students taking the Spanish AP test filtered out. A hand reached down and picked up Wendy's backpack. "How'd you do," Kyle asked, holding out his other hand to help her up. Wendy just offered him a tired smile and hummed a few more lines of the song. Kyle raised a brow at her. Wendy bit her bottom lip and shrugged. "Brain fry," Kyle half asked. He laughed when Wendy stuck her tongue at him. Together they walked out to his car. Kyle dropped her off at her house, yelling as she walked up to the door, "Get your brain functioning again. Dinner's at seven!"

Wendy waved him off, smiling. She and Kyle, along with Stan, Kenny, Bebe, and Cartman, were going to dinner to celebrate the end of exams. It would be wonderful, a night out with no worries over their heads. They would have fun and relax, and Kenny would get a free meal. It worked in everyone's favor, unless Kenny chocked on a meatball or was run over before seven. Wendy passed out for a few hours before waking up to get ready.

Dinner, along with the next week, was uneventful. Kenny hadn't been dying, and he was walking around on eggshells, sensing plots for his demise at every corner. Well, there was the incident when the robot chickens tried to take over the post office, but they had easily been dealt with by the magical—although cracked—conk shell that had once held Moses prisoner. Wendy ran from her closet, her limp a thing of the past. Her ankle only hurt now if she rolled it around. She pulled out a lavender sundress and slipped it on. It fit her wonderfully. She wiggled into her shoes and put in earrings. Turning to look in her full length mirror, Wendy smiled. She looked gorgeous.

She bit her bottom lip to keep from grinning to broadly. She just hoped Cartman thought she looked good.

Shaking her head, Wendy's smile turned into a frown. She seriously needed to stop this. She hadn't even spoken to Cartman since that dinner a week ago. And that could hardly be considered a decent conversation. They had nearly been kicked out of the restaurant. But still, she hoped he would be impressed with her.

"Wendy," her mother called up the stairs. "Let's go. We're already running late!" Wendy licked her cherry flavored lips and drew in an excited breath. This was it. In just a few hours, she'd be a high school graduate. She ran downstairs to meet her family.

The after party was insane.

No party like this had ever been thrown in South Park. Sure, parties, especially those of the high school students, tended to be drunk fests where even the nerds got at least tipsy. But this, this was amazing and astounding. Very few people seemed to be able to stand. Everyone wore broad smiles, and hugs were being exchanged every few seconds. Wendy had been in the death grips of people she hadn't spoken to in years. They were all acting like this was the last time they'd ever see each other, which was silly, of course. They still had summer, and holidays, and most people didn't escape South Park for long.

Wendy hopped over Annie and Mark, who had fallen of the couch, not that something so trivial had interrupted their make-out session. The wild waving of a pair of arms had caught her attentions. Over by the keg was Kyle, who was being used by a red cheeked Stan as a crutch. Wendy ran over and leapt at Kyle. The Jewish boy dropped his boyfriend and caught Wendy in a tight hug. Stan fell unceremoniously to the floor, but it did nothing to dampen his jolly mood. In fact, he seemed to find it very funny.

However, in his stupidity, he also thought it would be funny to trip Kyle. So, he punched the backs of Kyle's knees. This sent both Kyle and Wendy toppling onto Stan. Wendy let out a low moan of pain, but Stan and Kyle just laughed, soon dragging Wendy into it. Bebe, Token, and Jason, who were standing on the other side of the keg, were all holding their sides.

Wendy vaguely wondered why falling was so funny when people were drunk.

Wendy suddenly noticed that it was strangely quiet underneath her. She looked down to find Stan and Kyle making out. "Aaw, aaaw," she cried, scrambling up and kicking lightly at their sides. The boys flipped her off good-naturedly before standing to find a more secluded place. She smiled after them and wandered outside.

She settled herself onto the swing in Clyde's backyard. She, for some reason, didn't really feel like getting completely wasted tonight. She wished everyone had been keener on sitting around talking and reliving memories. She knew that it would happen sooner or later. They would do it within their own groups and as a class. But everyone else had different plans right now. They were making out with people they hadn't before or their current significant other. Wendy never made out with random people, and she didn't exactly foresee the one she wanted doing anything with her. She sighed and leaned against the rope.

Some time later, the noise level increased, and the sliding door slammed shut, followed by an annoyed snort. Wendy looked over her shoulder to see Eric Cartman. He looked up and noticed her for the first time. "Oh," he said, "hey, ho."

Wendy had long ago stopped taking offense to that comment. She offered him a little wave and turned her gaze back out to the backyard. She heard snow crunching behind her as he walked forward. "Why aren't you inside drinking it up," he asked. "I thought that was your thing." He was wearing a smirk.

Wendy rolled her eyes. "Hardly," she said. "I don't feel like it tonight." She was silent for a few more seconds before saying, "I just sort of wanted to just be with everyone, you know. But they're too busy playing tonsil hockey." There was a grunt of acknowledgment from Cartman. "So why aren't you celebrating?"

"Who says I'm not," he countered.

"Well, you're not drunk," Wendy said.

Cartman shrugged. "Like you said, you don't have to be plastered to celebrate something. I'm just as happy as the next asshole that school's over," he said. Wendy smiled. He blinked down at her.

Wendy fought down a blush as she looked away. She lowered her gaze to the snow covered ground. She kicked a bit at the white slush with her pointed shoes. "It's probably a good thing you aren't getting shit faced," Cartman said suddenly. Wendy looked up at him in confusion. He motioned to her shoes with his head, as he couldn't be bothered to uncross his arms. "Unless you wanted a repeat of Craig's," he finished with a raised brow.

Wendy smiled. "No," she said, "I learned my lesson." They made idle small talk for a while, recalling obscure events from childhood and several of the weirder occurrences that frequented South Park. They talked briefly of college plans and career hopes. It was all small talk, none of it significant or deep, but Wendy's heart was fluttering the whole way through. It brought her down quite a few pegs to know that she could only dream that Cartman would ever feel the same. She bit her bottom lip and hugged her arms to her stomach.

Wendy's head jerked up as something warm folded over her shoulders. She looked down to see the coat Cartman had previously been wearing draped over her. She brought her chocolate eyes up to his honey ones with a questioning expression. Cartman just shrugged. "You looked cold."

Wendy couldn't stop the words from leaving her mouth. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

The warm honey color darkened as Cartman glared coldly at her. "Why does it matter," he asked sharply.

Wendy's brows knitted at his harsh tone. "Because it's _you_ being nice to _me_," she said. "You hate me as much, if not more, than Kyle. We have never gotten along, and all of a sudden, you're taking care of me when I'm drunk and giving me your coat?"

"You want me to take it back," he snarled. "And I could have left you there to get alcohol poisoning. Everyone else was too drunk to have noticed. You would have probably died if I hadn't stepped in."

Wendy hated to think that he was right, that she did owe her life to Eric Cartman. "I never said I wasn't thankful," she snapped back. "I just don't understand. What are you plotting?"

"Who says I'm plotting anything," he asked.

Wendy rolled her eyes. "Point A: you are always plotting. Point B: you don't do anything without getting something in return. It's how you've always been. I think after knowing you for my whole life I can figure that out."

Cartman frowned. "You're something else, Wendy. I help you out, asking nothing in return, and you, being the everlasting bitch that you are, complain about it. Most people would have said thanks and left it at that," he said.

"I never said I wasn't grateful, and I did thank you," Wendy cried, cheeks turning pink at the memory of kissing his cheek. "I just don't understand why you've so suddenly taken to being so nice to me. I'm just trying to figure out what your motives are."

"Who says I have any motives," Cartman snapped. "Who says I fucking need a reason to be nice to you?"

"Because it doesn't make sense!"

Cartman scoffed, "When has anything ever made sense in South Park?"

Wendy frowned. He had a point there. Nothing in South Park was normal. But there was a sense of what was usual in the town, what was expected. It was expected that aliens showed up at random intervals during the week. It was expected that Kenny would come back after each of his horrific deaths. It was expected that Eric Cartman hated everyone and was a manipulative, deceptive jerk.

Wendy had stood from her seat on the swing. She and Cartman were leaning towards each other in anger. Wendy jabbed her finger into Cartman's chest as she spoke, "You are such an asshole!"

"You're a bitch!"

"I hate you!"

"I hate you more!"

Wendy was sure there was steam pouring out her ears. "You're such a jerk! You've always been so insulting towards me, and you've never had a valid reason. And before you say anything, being a hippie—which I'm not—isn't a valid reason!"

"Like I said, I don't need a reason for anything that I do," he yelled back. "And you are a hippie!"

"I am not!" she screamed. "Just because I care about things relating to a larger whole doesn't make me a hippie. Just because I care about the world that my children and grandchildren will have to live in doesn't make me a hippie! I hate pot!"

"You are," he countered. "You're a fucking hippie bitch. I can't fucking stand you. I can't stand your self righteous attitude. I can't stand your whinny voice. I can't stand your fucking shoes!"

Wendy's angered expression faltered for a second. Her shoes? But Cartman hadn't stopped yelling.

"You fucking break your fucking shoes and make me fucking take care of you! You fucking ruin my night of otherwise drunken pleasure because you can't take care of yourself! It's all got to be about you, doesn't it? Wendy Testaburger has to steal the limelight and be the complete center of attention, of everyone's thoughts. You just can't stay out of my head, can you, you dumb bitch!"

Wendy took a small step back. She was in his head? What did he mean?

"I fucking do something for you, and you shove it in my face," he snarled. "And you people wonder why I get pissed off all the time. It's because of assholes like you! Not being decent enough to just let a good deed be a good deed. No, Eric Cartman must have twisted motives all the time." His eyes flashed dangerously. He grabbed hold of her arms and shook her slightly. "Why do you have to fucking make caring a chore?"

He glared down at her. Wendy drew in a shuddering breath, unable to tear her eyes from his. Her heart was beating at the pace of a humming bird's. He was so close. He had to have been able to see the burning desire in her eyes. "Eric," she breathed out.

His eyes widened slightly, and his grip on her arms slacked enough that Wendy could have pulled away if she wanted. Needless to say, she stayed still. His eyes were an explosion of emotions that were racing by at a pace too quick for Wendy to determine. Suddenly, his walls returned. His eyes were stony, and his grip had tightened again. "Fuck it," he muttered.

He then, without warning, pulled Wendy to his chest and brought his lips crashing down to hers. Wendy's eyes were so wide, she was amazed that they didn't fall out. She was frozen in shock, incapable of any form of movement. Eric Cartman was kissing her.

Kissing her!

Wendy's heart was suddenly soaring through the heavens. She was flying through the clouds. She was invincible. Nothing could touch her. This had to be what it felt like to be high. Wendy was positive that no moment would ever top how she was feeling right now.

He pulled away. Wendy's lips were met with the bitter cold air. She had forgotten about that. She had forgotten that they were still in freezing Colorado. It had felt like a cloudless summer's day in the Caribbean.

She looked up. Cartman was staring down at her in shock. He dropped her arms and took a step back. "Shit," he muttered. "Shit. Fuck. I—I didn't mean to do that." Wendy's heart dropped somewhere around the area of her feet. "That wasn't my place. You hate me. I shouldn't have done that."

Was—was he trying to apologize to her? Was he trying to say sorry for having jumped down her throat, almost literally? Eric Cartman was apologizing for something?

Wendy grinned slyly. He was. His face went stony again at the sight of her grin. But before he could say a word, Wendy pushed him up against the trunk of the tree and pressed her lips hungrily to his. He stood in shock for several seconds before snaking his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. Wendy dug her hands into his silky hair and opened her mouth to invite his wandering tongue.

Cartman ran his hands up and down her back, resting one at the base of her neck. Wendy moaned into the kiss as their tongues did physical battle for a change. She grinded against him, trying to mold herself as close to him as was physically possible.

The sound of the sliding door opening broke into her world, accompanied by a call, "Hey, Wendy, are you out—" The voice dropped off. Wendy's natural reaction was to jump back, but Cartman kept a tight hold of her waist, preventing her from moving away from him. Wendy laid her hands on his chest, secretly glad that he wasn't pushing her way. They turned to look towards the house, where Stan and Kyle were standing with their jaws hanging loosely.

Kyle could only stare very openly as Stan muttered, "Dude, no way. No fucking way."

A few seconds later, Kenny appeared from behind them. "Hey, you seen Cartman?" He looked out into the yard to find the one he was looking for clinging onto a girl. His reaction was infinitely different than his other two friends'.

"Oh, FUCK yeah," he yelled, "fuck yeah!" He turned to face Stan and pointed in his face. "One hundred bucks, mother fucker! One hundred bucks!" He did a quick victory dance. "You lucky son of a bitch, Cartman," he called out.

Wendy felt Cartman remove a hand from her waist and knew he was flipping them off. Kenny just laughed and grabbed hold of Stan and Kyle's shoulders to lead them away. "Give the love birds some time alone," he said. "It's about damn time."

The door slid shut, and Wendy and Cartman turned their attentions back to each other. Wendy rested her head on his chest but kept her eyes locked onto his. "How long," he asked lowly .

Wendy smiled up at him. "Years," she whispered.

"Yeah, same," he said. He smiled at her. Not a smirk. Not a sneer. Not a sadistic grin. He smiled at her.

"You know," Wendy said snaking her arms up to circle his neck, "I think I could almost say that I love you." He smirked. Wendy smiled up at him. She blinked, waiting. "Well," she asked after a few seconds.

"Well what," he asked in confusion.

"Are you going to say it too," Wendy snapped.

Cartman blinked at her for a second before laughing his most obnoxious laugh. Wendy snarled. "Oh, fuck no, bitch," he laughed. "I'm not saying any pussy emo-fag shit like that."

"It's not emo to say you love someone," Wendy yelled jerking out of his arms.

Cartman rolled his eyes. "Whatever, ho," he said. "Now get back here."

Wendy crossed her arms. "Excuse me," she asked. "I certainly won't. In fact, screw you, Cartman." She turned her back to him with a huff.

Cartman smirked and stepped forward. He grabbed hold of her waist and ignored her as she shrieked for him to let her go. She tried squirming out of his grasp, but his hold was too tight and he was decidedly stronger than her. Finally she just gave up and collapsed against him, her cheek squished on his chest. "I hate you," she grumbled.

"I hate you too, bitch," he said grabbing her chin and kissing her again. Wendy let out a muffled squeal of surprise but then almost immediately relaxed into the kiss. Cartman wasn't the most experienced of kissers, but it was still a sweet kiss—or as sweet as something could be coming from Eric Cartman.

It was official in Wendy's mind: graduation kicked ass.


End file.
